How a Resurrection Really Feels
by x-the-rising-x
Summary: The resurrection of a supposedly dead relationship begins on a stormy night at Clothes Over Bro’s. Who’s to say when it ends? This is a oneshot of beginnings and ends, and everything that happens in between. BL


_**Summary: **_The resurrection of a supposedly dead relationship begins on a stormy night at Clothes Over Bro's. Who's to say when it ends? This is a oneshot of beginnings and ends, and everything that happens in between. BL

_**A/N: **_I'll get thank you's out of the way, first. Thank you Kristen, who read over parts of this for me, and provided me with well-needed feedback. And thank you, thank you, thank you, Leah, for giving me the original idea for this smutty oneshot. She read over a bunch of it for me as well, helping me a ton along the way. It morphed from a short little guilty-pleasure drabble to a oneshot that I think I am most proud of out of any of my writing.

Our show is not what it used to be. I have gained the ability to make it through season six, which I only watch for Sophia/Brooke, because I have learned to let go. My hopes for a reuniting of Brooke and Lucas are very low currently, but not at zero. Even if Mark decides to keep LP together, and go down a very boring, controversial, and cheap route, I'll be happy by what we got in seasons 1, 2, 3, and 5.

I wrote this oneshot to let go. It's not because I'm going to stop writing or anything – not at all. It just details all that BL were, and all that they have the potential to be. What would have happened if Lucas hadn't asked anyone to marry him? If he hadn't jetted off to Vegas with Peyton? If Brooke hadn't gotten attacked. If it rained again, just like that fateful night in which 3x13 took place? This is the story of BL, and their resurrection. Or at least, what their resurrection could be, in my eyes.

**How a Resurrection Really Feels**

_'It's been awhile since it's rained like this,' _Brooke ponders, staring complacently out the window of Clothes Over Bros. She considers, for a brief instant, that she should probably be worried, as the wind has blown the awning off the flower shop across the street, a tree has fallen a few blocks down from the store, and she is the only one with power for as far as she can see. However, Brooke Davis has dealt with storms much larger than this, such as her mother, and, besides, most of her memories of rain are pleasant.

_"You did pretty good."_

She turns away from the plate glass, smiling a little to herself as she shakes off reminiscence of her teenage years. The store is empty – she had closed a little a little over an hour ago, and was doing inventory when the storm hit. It's quiet, and a little lonely, albeit she's perfectly willing to sit out the storm while working on a few sketches. _Especially _since she has a bottle of red wine tucked away in the storeroom.

She moves to the storeroom, switching on the light as she enters. Standing on a milk crate, she can just barely reach the merlot hiding at the back of one of the shelves. Stepping down, she blows the dust off the bottle. She's about to turn off the light and exit the room, when she hears the opening of the door to the shop, footsteps entering, the brief sound of rain hitting the sidewalk outside, and then the slamming of a door.

"What the…" Hurriedly, she runs to the front room, to find none other than Lucas Scott, unzipping his rain jacket, and dripping all over the floor.

"Lucas!" She walks over to him, helping him pull off his jacket and hang it on the coat rack. "What are you doing here?"

He sheepishly runs a hand through his short hair. "I-uh, knew you were working late tonight, and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

It's been a fortnight since Brooke has had to give up Angie, 3 weeks since Lucas found out that Lindsey was seeing someone else, and almost 2 months since he had been left at the altar. For a while she could so easily see in his eyes, the pain and sadness over being abandoned by someone you loved. Lately, they've been returning to their normal electric blue, but his more than usual subdued presence makes Brooke continue to feel compassion toward him.

"Thanks, Luke," she replies softly. "I'm fine though. I'm sorry you had to brave the storm for me," she finishes through a laugh.

He shrugs. "Anything for you."

A flash of remembrance moves across her face, and then it is gone, before Lucas can even blink. Brooke Davis stands in front of him, looking even smaller and more vulnerable then she was in high school. He's spent more time with her in these past couple months then he probably had towards the end of their relationship, and everything he thought he had known about her, has shifted and morphed, into a sudden need for him to know more.

Everything about her, from her white tank top, to her skinny jeans, to her flats, to her wavy hair and dimples, makes the physical attraction to her that is always slightly prevalent in the back of his mind, swell slightly. He's indescribably happy that he had finally taken the time to get to know her again lately, because he's starting to wonder how he went 4 long years without having her as a friend.

"You might as well stay. I would _not _recommend you drive home in this." Brooke gestures to the storm outside.

"Thanks. Besides, it's nice to have some company. I was just sitting at home – "

"Brooding?" Brooke interrupts him with a quirky smile.

"Attempting to write," he says defensively through a laugh.

Brooke waves her hand around. "They are one and the same, Luke."

He follows her to the couch, where she motions for him to sit down. He sinks down into the soft material, remembering the last time he sat here. This was back before Angie, the night before the wedding. When she had told him that all she wanted, all she needed, was a family, and when, somewhere in the back of his mind, he wished he could give that to her.

"I guess I sort-of had ulterior motives when I came over here," he says. Brooke looks confused, but he presses on. "I guess I just missed you. Talking to you. I feel like kind-of a bad friend for not checking in much since you had to give up Angie."

Brooke gives him a small smile and grabs the bottle of wine from the counter, fishing out two glasses from one of the cabinet. She joins him on the couch, and begins to pour the red liquid. "Don't worry about it. Besides, you were in New York most of last week. What was that about, anyway?"

Lucas sighs. "My new book. I had to meet with Lindsey…"

"Awkward, much?"

He chuckles slightly. "Yeah…anyway, it had to go through a few more rounds of editing. And she wanted a stronger connection between the physical comet, and what the comet was supposedly a metaphor for."

Brooke doesn't respond to that, just stares into her glass with a pensive expression. He hadn't brought up Peyton specifically, and she hadn't asked. Lucas had chosen to hesitate when it came to mentioning Goldilocks, for three reasons. One, because it kind-of pisses him off that ever since she came home, Brooke has told him to go and be with Peyton. Two, because he's not about to rant on about what the book is or isn't a metaphor for, when he himself doesn't have a clue. And lastly, he's seen the look Brooke gets in her eye when someone brings up one of his books. If _An Unkindness of Ravens _wasn't a slap in the face to her, he doesn't know what would be.

_He's sitting at his kitchen table, long after midnight, with a beer in his right hand, pouring over the first edits of his freshman novel. The editing process was still new to him, as was this girl Lindsey, whom he found to be more and more intriguing day by day, as they had conversations over the phone about his book. _

_No matter how new this process was to him, something is definitely off. Lucas knows that it's late, and that he should probably think twice of calling someone at this time of night, but truthfully, he doesn't really care. _

_The phone rings, once, twice, three times, before she picks up._

"_Lucas?"_

"_Hey…I know it's late."_

"_It's 1 in the morning, Lucas," she says groggily._

"_I know…I'm sorry. But I just had a question about the edits."_

_Lindsey sighs on the other end of the line. "What about them, Lucas?"_

"_It's just…" he flips towards the front of the manuscript. "I feel like you cut out…a lot. Like the whole first few chapters. And big chunks in the middle."_

"_Lucas…" it's the first time he's heard her sound even close to condescending, but he supposes he can't blame her, after waking her up in the middle of the night. "Look, it was good writing. And good plot. It just…didn't flow with the rest of the book."_

"_It's supposed to be about a guy with a conflicted heart."_

_He can almost see her shaking her head. "Reader's don't want that, Luke. I'm trying to make this the best book possible, and revenue has to come in to play. People don't want to read about a conflicted heart, a guy who had two true loves in his life. People want to read about a guy who found his soul mate."_

"_So you're cutting everything out about – "_

"_She's a great character. And she sounds like an amazing person. Gorgeous, too, by the way you described her. But, trust me, people will be more interested if we make the story more tight, and concise. And I didn't cut everything out. I left in some stuff in chapter 7."_

_After she clicks off, Lucas sits, lost in thought for a few minutes. He finally picks up the manuscript again, and flips through until he finds chapter 7. Right there, on page 63…barely a paragraph, barely noticeable…_

'_She was fiercely independent – Brooke Davis. Brilliant, and beautiful, and brave. In two years she has grown more than anyone I have ever known. Brooke Davis is going to change the world someday, and I'm not sure she even knows it."_

"I wish I could remember more."

He turns to her, breaking out of his daze. She's leaned back against the cushion, eyes lost to her own memories.

"What do you mean?"

Brooke shrugs. "I don't really know." She pauses for a second. "It's just…sometimes it really scares me that everything I thought I knew is getting further and further away from me. Like – despite the fact that high school was full of all that drama and sadness, it felt like such a cocoon – you know? Like I was sheltered from all the upsets of the real world."

"Maybe you should have been the writer."

Brooke laughs. "Doubtful. Besides, I got _everything I wished for._"

Lucas can't help but notice the sarcasm in her voice. "Somehow that doesn't sound sincere to me."

The dimpled brunette shifts slightly. Seemingly coming to a decision, Brooke sits up, turns to him, and crosses her legs. She's now sitting Indian style on the couch, and reaches for the blanket hanging over the back. Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, and balancing her glass of wine in front of her. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, and begins to speak.

"Remember that night in New York?" Lucas nods. "You were probably too drunk to remember this, but you kind-of kissed me, and tried to get me to sleep with you."

Lucas sighs, and rubs his temple with his hand. "I think about that night way too much, Brooke. And I always wish I could have taken that back. It was wrong, and I took advantage of you."

Brooke holds up her hand and laughs slightly. "Lucas, it's fine, really. I told you that night that you probably wouldn't see me for a while, and I think somewhere, deep down, that was me trying to distance myself from any feelings for you resurfacing. I got back to the apartment that night, and told my mom that I would go into business with her. At the time, I thought it was the right decision – I really did. But I spent the next two years with my mother, striving for some sort of bond with her that didn't exist. And I came back to Tree Hill wanting the type of family that I never had. Which is why I decided to take care of Angie."

"So what _do_ you want, Brooke?"

There is a long silence. And then, "I wish I knew."

He doesn't know what to respond. Most of what she says lately, which is such a 180 from the flirty banter she constantly carried around as an adolescent, leaves him pensive and confused.

Brooke sighs – looks down into her wine glass, and takes a sip. "Look around, Luke," she says, eyes flittering around the store. "This is probably one of the last times you'll see this store."

Lucas looks up, confused once again. "What do you mean?"

_She arrived at the New York apartment just a few minutes ago. The past few days have been hellish – she's fallen into a pit of depression over the loss of Angie, and on a limb, she knew just the person she needed to see to set things straight. _

_She sits here, in front of her mother, Victoria Davis, not for comfort, but for closure. Brooke realizes now, that no matter how hard she tries, Victoria will never love Brooke the way Brooke wants her to._

"_I realized I'm turning in to the one person I do _not _want to become. I'm turning in to you."_

_Victoria doesn't look particularly upset. "What do you want me to say, Brooke? That I was a failure as a mother? You had everything you wanted." _

"_Except your love."_

_Victoria sighs, and begins to speak maliciously. "When I was your age, I dreamed of having a clothing line, of having a business. Of all the things you _have._ But I stupidly decided to fall in love. And one morning, your father and I go a _little surprise." _She gestures to Brooke with an air of disgust and lowers her voice. "I told him I didn't want kids – that was never the plan. But he wanted a son – more than anything. And as soon as I got fat he had an excuse to jump into any bed he wanted. And when we had our little baby girl, I made sure I would _never_ be pregnant again. If I couldn't have my dream, then your father couldn't have his, either. I probably took it out on you a little too much along the way, but you should be _thankful _for me giving you life."_

_There is a silence. Brooke stands. That's all she needed to hear. "I do thank you. Because now I know it's not my fault. I'm calling my lawyers tomorrow and divesting my interests in Clothes Over Bros. The magazine, the line – you can have everything." She brushes past her mother, not bothering to look Victoria in the eye and see the expression of the woman who just won. "Congratulations, Victoria. Now you have a company and no daughter. You got your dream." _

"All of it…the line, the clothes, the fame, the money…none of it interests me anymore."

Lucas can't speak. Everything he thought he knew about what Brooke wanted has simply disintegrated in front of his eyes. Her retelling of that conversation with her mother makes every single thing she has ever been insecure about make more sense. He leans in, and places a hand on her knee.

"Brooke…I know what it feels like to not be wanted by a parent. I was lucky enough to get one really great one. But I don't want you to _ever _think that just because you couldn't get the love you deserved from your parents, that you don't deserve to be here."

She wants to smile – she really does. She wants to thank him and hug him and let him see her eyes sparkle again. But Brooke realizes that this is the first time in maybe forever that the broody blonde's words haven't made much of an impact on her.

"It's too late for that." She stands, frustrated, and, as if on cue, the lights go out. Her expression doesn't change, she doesn't tense. The candles she had lit earlier in case of an incident like this, still burn bright, and through the dim light she can see his expression. He looks sad.

She moves to the door and presses her hand up against the cool glass. Lucas stands as well. She can't see him, because she's facing out of the store, staring at the storm, but she can still feel him approaching.

"What do you want Brooke?" he asks her for the second time this evening.

Brooke closes her eyes, trying to hold in and prevent tear from slipping down her face. And in an instant, she whispers: "I want to feel."

It's quiet at first, but then she reopens her eyes, places her hand across the cool handle, and yanks the door open.

Water pours in, soaking the floor, the wind whipping through the store. Brooke takes a step forward to stand in the doorway. Raindrops attack her face and clothes almost maliciously, yet, despite the fact that the storm is raging, everything seems to get much quieter.

She can still hear him behind her, speaking in a very collected voice. "What are you doing, Brooke?"

"I just…I just want to feel. I want to feel _something. _Anything."

Then he's directly behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, his body pressed up against her back. She shivers, feeling his body warmth, as her heart skips a beat. He lays his lips against her neck – once, twice, and she shuts her eyes.

"Lucas…" she breathes out. "Friends don't do this," she says, barely above a whisper.

"We've never just been friends." His words tickle her ear, and she practically falls apart in his arms. She turns her head, only meaning to meet his eyes, but as she looks over her shoulder, his hot breath hits her lips, and she gives in.

She's spent five years ignoring it. That pain, ache, terrible pull at her heart whenever he was around her. She hated him for it, and blamed him for the reason all of her relationships since him have crashed and burned. She willingly took care of him when he was drunk, and gracefully turned him down when he asked for her.

"_Or you could stay." Words full of lust, love, passion. Everything she can't resist, as she lets him pull her in. As she lets him kiss her. Because she's just 19 years old, and she feels more alone than she ever has. And he wants her. He wants her again. _

_But then she remembers. _

She painfully sat through his wedding, and dutifully took care of Peyton when she broke down. She begrudgingly let him help her with Angie, and tiredly let him see her when she was vulnerable. She hates him. She loves him.

She wants him.

The door slams. He's reached over her shoulder and pushed it closed. Now she's turned around, extracted herself from his arms, and stares him straight in the eye. The rain is gone. The light is gone. Her walls are broken down. She has no more excuses.

Lucas steps forward, tilts his head forward, and all of a sudden they're kissing. With the gentlest force, he pushes her up against the glass door, and slides his tongue into her mouth. He realizes that the more time that passed, the more he was able to forget the way her lips feel. The way she kisses, the way she tastes, the way her skin feels against his own. But every memory, every instance he has spent in her company is now flashing through his mind. Images, snapshots from their relationship, and before and after, flash through his brain like a slideshow. And he wonders, momentarily if, once again, he isn't completely infatuated.

Brooke's tongue gladly meets his own and her hands wrap around his body, rubbing his lower back enticingly. She runs a hand across his stomach, grazing his abs with her fingernails. And when he takes his mouth off of hers, and gently sucks on her earlobe, she lets out a barely audible moan.

Then she pushes him back. He's slightly startled, and momentarily afraid. If she stops now, then it's over. And Lucas isn't sure if he can watch her walk away from him again.

She looks so gorgeous standing there – her hair curly and mussed, her mascara smudged slightly. And she stares at him, breaks down his blue eyes with her hazel ones. She seems to reach a decision – a moment of clarity.

A moment of clarity.

"_This is a dream come true. Now who do you want standing next to you?"_

_He could watch her forever. Watch her cheer, and smile, and cry, and laugh. He could watch her scream at him, and watch her pleasure him. He could watch her tell lies, or painful truths. He could watch her walk down the aisle towards him, have his children, and sleep in his bed for the rest of her life. _

_He could watch her. He could have her. But he won't. She won't let him. Because, in this world, soul mates are supposed to end up together. And his soul mate, all gorgeous curly locks with legs that goes on for miles, is a mere 20 feet away from them. He'll go to her because that's how it's supposed to be. _

_His pretty girl isn't his soul mate. But it doesn't matter. See, she's the one. She just doesn't know it. _

Brooke reaches down to the hem of her tank top, and, in one motion, pulls it over her head. It falls to the floor, and she bites down on her lip. She's nervous, blushing. It's bolder then she's been with him since they were together, but everything she's feeling currently feels too _right _to ignore.

Black, lace, strapless. The same bra she was wearing the night she and Chase consummated their relationship. Except right now, Lucas is staring at her with more lust than she can ever remember. She's pretty sure she feels more in this moment than she had during the entire time she dated Chase. Or Owen. Or any of those guys she had slept with, and then thrown away while living in New York. She's more turned on then she ever has been, and she hasn't even taken off her bra.

He puts his hands on her hips, and she shivers under his touch. "Are you sure?"

"_You're sure?"_

_Letters. 82 letters. She nods, and in that instant, she's given herself to him. Completely. She is his, he is hers, and no matter how hard she tries to fight it, they are one. _

She doesn't respond. Just nods. And reaches up, with shaking fingers, to undo the buttons on his shirt, one by one. He lays a hand across her flat stomach, and her skin burns under his touch. Lucas can't take it much more, watching her undress him. It's too much. She looks too gorgeous, standing there topless in front of him. And he loses it. He kisses her again.

Brooke's motions become more rushed. She flicks open the buttons, and he shrugs off his shirt. Their torsos meet, as do their tongues, and his hand reaches around to bury itself in her hair.

They turn, lost in the crevices of each other's mouths, tripping over each other's feet. "Couch," Brooke mumbles in between kisses, wrapping her arms around his neck. His hand reaches down between their bodies and unbuttons her bottoms. She does the same for him, and soon they're falling out of their jeans, toppling over the arm of the couch.

They kiss, and they kiss, and they kiss. She moves underneath him, and he's completely hard for her. He knows she can feel it, because her hand moves between them and touches him through his boxers. Lucas lets out a low, almost guttural sound from the back of his throat, and she smirks in between kisses.

"Tease," he mumbles, moving his lips down to her jaw line, and she sighs out as he gently nips at her collarbone. He reaches up, and begins to gently massage her breast through her bra. Brooke squirms from underneath him, and suddenly, they're falling off the couch, just a mess of tangled limbs. He hits the carpet on his back, with her still on top of him, and she laughs, low and raspy, straddling him.

There's a sexy, mysterious, beautiful, lonely angel on top of him. Candlelight bounces off her hair like a halo, and, as he spans her waist with his hands, and she smiles down at him, dimples emerging for the first time in a long time, he can truly say that he's happy.

The thunder rolls overhead, and Lucas flips them over so he's on top. He wants to wipe that smile off her face, so this time, when he kisses her, it's slow. It's passionate and meaningful, reminiscent of a time when things used to be simpler. And his fingers trickle down her stomach, brush against the fabric of her black lace thong.

Her breath hitches in her throat, and he leans down to lay kisses across her exposed skin. His hand snakes around to unclasp her bra from behind, and then his head dips down to gently take one of her nipples in his mouth. Brooke moans out, loud and raspy, as Lucas's fingers slip under the waistband of her underwear. Her center is hot and slick against his fingers, and the minute he begins to rub her, she nearly loses it.

His lips are on her ear, and he's breathing hot air against her skin. Her world is falling away from her, as she's reduced to a flushed and writhing woman beneath him. Lucas quickens his motions with his fingers, replacing his lips on hers, but not before mumbling a few choice words.

"I want to make you feel, pretty girl…I'm going to make you come _so hard_, baby."

"Lucas…" She's pushing down his boxers impatiently, trying not to give in to his clear attempts to send her over the edge. "I want you…I want _you."_

It's a call for help. A siren's request. She yells for him amidst sighs and whimpers. And he's already to go – he's yanked off her underwear and is poised at her entrance. It takes all the strength in the world to not push forward. Because somewhere, at the back of the mind, he knows he has to be responsible.

"Are you…are you on…" he whispers into her lips.

"Just go."

It's barely an answer, but he obliges, mainly because he isn't sure he could handle it anymore. And all of a sudden he's inside of her, and it feels more right than anything he's ever known. Lucas stares at her, her gorgeous complexion, her soft hazel eyes, her barely parted lips, and the look of pleasure falling across her face.

She grips his back, digging her fingernails into him and arching her body up to meet him. Lucas begins to move, sliding himself out of her, and then pushing himself in, the friction of their two bodies being enough to make him go dizzy with need.

"Harder…faster…" She's panting, letting her tongue dance across his with every thrust, and he increases his pace. She clenches herself around him even more, and he's not sure how long he'll last like this.

"Jesus, Brooke…" he grinds his teeth, burying his face into her neck, breathing in her lavender scent. Their bodies meld – their slick, hot skin, rubbing together as he makes love to her on the carpet of her clothing store.

"Oh, god…Luke." She says his name and he's gone. Everything disappears to him, and his sole focus is on the girl lying underneath him. She says his name, and he tumbles over the edge, just in time for her orgasm to wash over her. They come together, their yells almost suppressing the sounds of the raging storm outside.

It's over, and he rolls off of her, pulling her into her arms, perhaps in fear that she'll try to get away from him again. But she doesn't. No, Brooke Davis, the girl who was constantly running away from the two of them, and what they had the possibility to be, doesn't pull away. She curls up against his form, clutching on to him as he pulls a blanket off from the back of the couch.

They lie there in silence for a while. Their breathing slows, their skin cools. Brooke relaxes against him, her face buried into his chest. He realizes after a few minutes that the thunder and lightning have passed over. The rain has ceased to a mere drizzle, drumming down softly against the windows.

"What are you thinking about?" Lucas asks after a moment, pressing his lips against her ear.

"How amazing that was." Lucas lets out a low laugh, and Brooke lifts her head to meet his eyes. "Thank you, Luke."

He responds by dipping his head and pressing his lips softly against hers. "God, I never want to let go of you," he says after the kiss is over.

Brooke lets him wrap his body around hers, and gently intertwines her fingers with his. "Then don't."

--

They are found the next morning, by Nathan, Haley, and Jamie, curled up under a blanket on the carpet. The family had arrived to check on Brooke, who, the last they'd heard, was doing inventory the previous night.

"Aunt Brooke! Uncle Lucas!" Jamie's shrieks are loud enough to awake the two, who stir groggily. Nathan and Haley approach, shocked expressions adorning their faces. This was the _last _thing they'd expected to walk in on.

Brooke opens her eyes first, and with a yelp similar to Jamie's, sits up quickly on the carpet. She thanks her lucky stars she had grabbed Lucas's collared shirt before falling asleep the night before, because otherwise, this situation would be even more awkward than it already is.

Nathan and Haley just stand there speechless (although Brooke can't help but notice a little bit of a – could it be? – smirk playing across Nathan's face). Jamie stands in front of the two lovers, looking rather puzzled with the situation.

"Aunt Brooke? Why are you asleep with Uncle Lucas?"

Lucas groans, and shifts as he begins to wake up. He reaches up and runs a hand down Brooke's side, clearly not aware of the situation yet.

"Come back to bed," he murmurs huskily, before lifting his head and opening his eyes. "Jesus Christ!" he yells, noting that they have company.

"What the h-e double l happened here?" Haley asks, her eyes shifting between Brooke and Lucas.

"That's not exactly hard to infer," Nathan says, trying to conceal a laugh.

"Are you two in love?" asks Jamie, taking a step closer to the two of them. "Mommy says that she and daddy only sleep in the same bed together because they're in love." He turns back to Haley, who still looks as though she has just been transported back five years, when stumbling in on Brooke and Lucas in the morning was far too common. "Are Aunt Brooke and Uncle Lucas in love?"

Brooke turns a deep shade of purple.

--

"I need to talk to you."

She's shown up at his doorstep at barely 9 am, after they haven't spoken in almost a week. Lucas would like to say that it's because they've both been busy, but really, they've both just been sitting around waiting for the phone to ring. Though never said out loud, he knows he needs to give her time to think. It's been almost a month since that night in Clothes Over Bro's. It had been amazing, yes, but there was a whole string of complications that had to be resolved before even thinking of starting anything up again.

"Uh, sure." He opens the door wider to let her in, and Brooke averts her eyes to the linoleum of the kitchen floor. "What's up?"

"Maybe we should sit," she says, motioning to the table. Lucas nods, and swallows, as he gets more and more nervous by the second.

Brooke takes a seat across from him at the table. She fidgets with the sleeves of her cotton shirt, and Lucas notices for the first time how underdressed she is. In a long sleeve shirt and sweatpants, with her hair pulled up in a messy bun, she still looks gorgeous. He wants to tell her, but he figures that by now he should know when to bite his tongue.

"Okay, well, there's no easy way to tell you this, so I'm just going to come right out and say it." A short pause, and then: "I'm pregnant."

He had known what she was going to say before the words even came out, and perhaps even since she had knocked on his door. He had sensed it, somehow, but hearing her confirm his suspicions, just made everything more concrete.

This feels nothing like it had when they were juniors, and Brooke's possible pregnancy had been enough to make his stomach churn and his vision blur. This time, his stomach seems to swell with some butterfly like excitement, which, if he had told her about, she would think was crazy. Because the look on her face right now resembles a girl who thinks she has just brought him the worst news possible.

Lucas reaches across the table, takes her hand in his, and stares her straight in the eye.

"I'm here."

--

They aren't together. It hurts, and it kills him, but Lucas is pretty sure he understands. For Brooke, the night in C/B had probably been just as painful as it had been pleasurable. It meant that she was giving herself to the boy that had always come in between her and her best friend. He _hates _himself for that.

Besides, he doesn't deserve her. As much joy as the impending birth of their beautiful twins brings him, he knows, deep down, that she's better off without him. He's selfish and unreliable, and he's made her cry way too many times before.

He wants to let her know he's there. Which is why, on that day when her stomach begins to show significantly, and she knows she can't hide it anymore, he goes with her to see Peyton. The blonde who, in the wake of her realization that she and Lucas were over for good, had finally begun to piece her life back together again.

They find her at the record label, rearranging the track order on Mia's sophomore album. If Brooke had walked around to the other side of Peyton's desk, she would have seen that the thing Goldilocks was smiling about could very well have had to do with the growing email exchange between her and Jake Jagielski.

Brooke sits down, and Lucas stands behind her. Peyton tears her eyes away from the computer to focus on her best friend because, as Brooke says, it's important.

_'It was easier to tell Lucas,' _Brooke realizes, while staring across at Peyton, the words on the edge of her tongue. She had never wanted to be the one to betray their friendship, and this is the first time in 15 long years of knowing each other, that Brooke can actually feel like it's about to end.

It hurts. Way more than she had expected.

"I'm pregnant, P. Sawyer."

"Brooke…" Peyton looks shocked. "That's…that's great!" she chokes out. She leans across the desk and grabs her best friend's shoulders. And then her face falls to confusion. "But B…who's the father?"

And then she sees Lucas's hand, tightly gripping Brooke's shoulder. And she knows.

--

She's alone in the hospital room when the midwife tells her to start pushing. In these nine long months, she had worried about a bunch of things, but feeling so lonely when she had two beautiful things growing in side of her, was never one of them. Haley had disappeared to go find more ice chips, and Brooke isn't totally sure whether or not she can do this without a hand to hold.

She was driven by Nathan and Haley to the hospital, and when Lucas had arrived, she refused to let him come in. They had gotten into an argument the prior week, when Brooke had rejected the idea of moving in with Lucas once the babies were born.

_"I don't even know what we are, Brooke! One day we aren't together, the next you're sleeping with me in my bed, the next you tell me that you need space! What the _fuck _do you want?"_

_It's a callback to the night that had started this whole thing, and she just stands there, trying not to cry, in the center of her living room, without an answer. He looks so angry, so livid, which is such an extreme departure from the calm demeanor he had carried for the whole pregnancy. _

_Then he's gone, slamming the front door to her house. Brooke expects, though she'll never know, that he leaves because he can't stand to see her cry. _

According to Haley, he was anxious and upset. Apparently, when finding out he couldn't see Brooke, he had slammed his fist against the wall of the waiting room, and collapsed onto the floor, his head in his hands, trying not to cry.

"I'm going to need you to start pushing, Brooke…" the midwife says again, positioning himself at her feet.

"No! No!" hot tears roll down her face as she cries out in pain. "I need…I need Lucas!"

All of a sudden he's beside her, grabbing on to her hand, pressing a kiss into her damp hair. "Come on, baby, you can do this," he soothes.

She sobs through the whole birth. But Lucas is fairly sure they're tears of joy. And at 3:21 and 3:32 respectively, on January 13th, 2011, Leah Davis Scott, and Keith Davis Scott, are born.

The two are carbon copies of Brooke and Lucas, with Leah's brown hair and hazel eyes, and Keith's blonde hair and blue eyes. Keith is a crier, while Leah chooses instead to sleep. Keith is slightly larger, and likes to suck his thumb, while Leah enjoys grabbing on to things.

Jamie is transfixed by the twins. Brooke tells him that he'll always have to be there for his cousins – to protect Leah, and to show Keith the ropes on being a boy. Nathan immediately falls in love with Leah, and Haley spends a good hour trying to help Brooke figure out how to breastfeed two babies at once.

Lucas falls asleep next to Brooke on her hospital bed that night, Keith tucked safely in his arms. The nurse had offered to put the twins in the nursery to allow Brooke to get some sleep, but the tired mother just smiled and shook her head – it would be a long time before she let her babies out of her sight.

She's rocking Leah in her arms when Peyton walks through the door. It's almost nine o'clock, and visiting hours are over, but Brooke doesn't even bother asking how the blonde got in. It's been several months since Peyton had left town, not letting anyone know where she was going. She had told only Nathan she was leaving – explaining that she needed to get away, that staying around Brooke and Lucas had gotten to be too painful.

Peyton hovers in the doorway, slightly unsure, but Brooke beckons her in with her eyes.

"I'm glad you came," the brunette says, swallowing.

Peyton sighs. "I couldn't miss this."

Brooke looks down to the dozing child in her arms. "You want to meet your niece and nephew?"

The little girl is deposited in the blonde's outstretched arms, and Peyton looks down with wonder at the sleeping infant. "God, she's beautiful."

Brooke smiles and nods. "That's Leah, and Lucas has Keith."

Peyton's eyes shift to the man asleep next to Brooke. Her eyes glisten with tears, but she doesn't look sad. "You guys are going to be amazing parents."

There is a silence in the room, which is only filled by Lucas's steady breathing. Brooke looks from Leah, to Keith, to Lucas. Her eyes finally settle on Peyton and she lets out a small smile.

"And if not, they'll always have their incredible aunt."

--

It's finally autumn, and all of Tree Hill seems to welcome it with outstretched arms. The summer had been intense, and when the first September breeze had settled on the North Carolina beach, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

They go to the Rivercourt one day in October, and despite their lack of any official documents or stability to prove it, they are more of a family than probably anyone else in the world. Leah, who Brooke and Lucas have learned _hates _the cold, is bundled from head to toe in designer jackets and pants and hats and scarves and gloves, all made for toddlers. She waddles along under all the layers, and Lucas swings her up, placing her atop his shoulders. Leah lets out a squeal of delight and grabs on to her fathers head.

Keith and Brooke follow behind, the four year olds hand clasped tightly in his mother's. He's carrying a miniature basketball under his arm, and is adorned in a simply a sweater and jeans, already immune to the cold, among other things.

Brooke sits down on the picnic bench, and watches Keith run off to play with his father and sister. Lucas let's Leah down, and she immediately tackle's her brother playfully. Lucas laughs and looks on, before glancing back at Brooke.

She smiles as he walks over to her and places a hand on her knee. Her cheeks have gone rosy in the cold, and her hair has grown out over the past few years. She's 27, but still as beautiful as she was at 17, if not more.

They aren't married. They aren't engaged. They each have a house, but depending on the day, week, month, or year, they may or may not sleep in the same bed. Their children don't notice, and the love Brooke and Lucas have for both of them, as well as each other, greatly outshine any instability in their lives.

When people ask them if they are together, they ignore the question. They are, in almost every way, but anyone of their friends will tell you that they are simply too afraid to commit.

"Do you remember what you said to me the night we met?"

_"How many moments can you point to in life and say, that's when it all changed?"_

Brooke smiles at the memory, but Lucas just continues.

"The night of the boy draft, Rachel and I came here. She blindfolded me and told me that if you were the one, I could make the shot. I did, and I knew: That's the moment it all changed for me."

_"Brooke's the one – make the shot."_

_"What happened?"_

_"It went in."_

Brooke's lips part slightly, and she looks up at him, slightly confused. "Lucas…why are you telling me this?"

Lucas takes her hands in his and stares her straight in the eye. "The night our children were conceived – that was another moment when it all changed. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. As a _family._"

"Luke…" Brooke has tears in her eyes, and he hates always having to be the one to make her cry, but he pushes forward.

"I need to prove it to you, Brooke. That I love you, and that I always have." He pulls a bandana out of his pocket and wraps it around his head. Reaching under the picnic table, he grabs the basketball that he and Nathan keep under there. Turning around to face the hoop, he takes a deep breath.

The ball flies through the air and when it makes contact with the concrete of the court, he turns around to face Brooke.

"What happened?"

The brunette stands there, momentarily speechless as Leah runs up to her and grabs on to her leg.

"It…It went in."

Lucas rips off the bandana, just in time to see Keith join his sister. The 27-year-old broody blonde looks forward at the three people he loves more than anything in the world. He takes a step forward and grabs onto Brooke's hands. She's smiling, and crying tears of joy.

It's been a long journey, and the story of their relationship is probably more confusing than anything else either of them have experienced in a lifetime. He doesn't need a slip of paper to prove it, but he wants to declare his love for this woman, in front of all his friends and family. He wants Nathan and Haley and Jamie and Jake and Peyton and Jenny and Lily and Karen and Mouth and Millicent and Skillz to all be there. He wants Leah to be their flower girl, and Keith to be their ring bearer. He wants a definite way to tell Brooke that he will _never _leave her.

He wants a family. He wants this family.

"Marry me, pretty girl."


End file.
